No Instant
by HaveringFool
Summary: Our lives are like a pavement on a rainy day. [A/N: If you choose to read this, please peruse the a/n at the bottom of chapter one. Thank you.]
1. Chapter 1

Our lives are like a pavement on a rainy day.

Sometimes in some areas of that concrete slab, puddles form, puddles grow.  
>With each step in the puddle, there'll be a disturbance, an intrusion, an interruption.<br>Each ripple - a slight shudder - a minute modification to the calm, unchanging surface of the puddle.

Our lives are like a pavement on a rainy day.

Each step, each interaction, every modification can be a blessing or a curse;  
>a ripple or a slight dimple.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Hi there, this is a note to say, to warn if I may, about the story content. This is a re-upload. If you had read this before, the end (or the new chapter) is just chapter 5.  
>I had written this story when it rained, when I was down, and I had written this with the intent to hurt - so, the story hurts. It hurt and hurts me at least. I'm not asking you to read this - the story - it's up here, for my own purposes really; I needed to live through this.<p>

I'll thank you, ever so sincerely, if you choose to proceed, choose to read, but there'll be no more author notes - because I do see these notes as interruptions to a story sometimes, and sure, for one of my stories, an a/n was fun to have and I liked it there but, not for this story. So here is my thanks, for your time, if you choose to proceed; and even if you don't (which I still say, might be a better option instead), it's okay.  
>This story, has an end - I gave it an end (and I hope the end makes sense), because, I no longer wish to write for this story as I had initially planned. It hurts too much.<p>

Here's my warning, and my thanks. For taking the time to read this author's note, and for the time, if you choose to proceed.  
>If you wish to read it - this story - know that yes, it hurts (me at least). Thank you, for the time.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

I watch the pavement, coated with rain, puddles forming, and each puddle, a well of life.

A well teeming with bacterium, atoms and life, so she has told me each and every time; we both love watching the rain.

I think, for each scar, each wound I have taken, there is an equal and opposite reaction – I am one step closer to her.  
>Each moment I have lived, adding up to a step closer to her.<p>

I press my lips to her temple, gentle but firm. You're my reason Maura, I tell her. You're my reason.

She's awake, but she's weak. I feel her fingers flex against mine, tightening the twine; the gesture saying words so familiar - together, we are a whole, I'm here.

I think maybe she's jesting, maybe she's not quite gone yet, maybe - she's just going to sleep.

I press my lips to her temple. Gentler, firmer; her skin's colder.

I press my lips to her temple, firmer, harder.

Please Maura, please. I shudder against her.

My eyes; are each holding its own puddle.

I feel her skin, her hair, any warmth along my cheek. I press my lips to her temple. Maura, please.

I feel her finger, on my chest; she's trying to reach beneath the sternum, she's pointing to my heart beneath my chest. Her finger's the key and I know, I remember, I understand.

Always Maura, you'll always be in here. I press my hand onto my chest, enveloping her finger, her hand. You'll always be in here.

She smiles.

She knows I remember.

Her lips are so pale.

The bridge of my nose aches and burns. They flow. She catches them, she brushes them; her fingers wiping at tears.

I want to freeze the moment. I want her to stop feeling cold. I want to follow, I want to never let go.

I hold her closer, I want to stop the rain; I want to stop the blood flow. I want to freeze the moment; take a mental snapshot, a never forgotten moment.

Teardrops are raindrops and rain is tears. Her eyes are my shelter.

She traces my eyes, she traces my lips. She pokes at my dimples, she touches my cheek. You better not serve me instant Jane, she jibes.

Her voice, so weak.

She smiles.

Her lips are pale but her eyes, I watch her eyes.

Her smile, is safe and alive inside. I want them to always stay alive.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks, finger to my heart.

Her cheeks are losing her flush.

I nod. I understand. I watch her watching me.

I'll never be leaving you, because you're always right here. I hold her hand, tightly. I press it firmly, to my chest. You'll always be right here Maura. I kiss her knuckles, her fingertips.

Good coffee needs time to brew, no matter the condition. I laugh a little, my breath constricted. Each time the coffee machine makes an appearance, she glares at my pack of instant; almost every morning at breakfast.

I'll meet you with a good brew Maura. I promise Maura. I whisper my promise into her hair, into her ear. No matter the condition, no instant. Maura, I love you.

I feel her hands holding mine. It'll be okay. She whispers. It'll be okay. She promises with intertwined fingers.

She presses her lips to my fingers and tells each of them, words of love.

She looks at me and I hear: I love you Jane.

Her voice, is sincere but weaker and strained.

I hold her. I rock her. She understands.

She snuggles into me, I feel her smile against my shoulder; she's just asleep.

I am in a puddle, soaked – in rain, tears and brown-reddish stains. I do not want to call it in. I do not want them taking her. I want to sit here and hold her. I just want to hold her. She's just sleeping.

I hold her. No instant. I promise. Closer, and closer. I bring her. Nearer, and nearer. I hold her. Colder, and further.

I have promised but just for the moment, I want to pretend, that it's just rain I am sitting in. Water. That she's just sleeping. That she's just fallen asleep to the rhythm of the rain. That her eyes will flutter open and smile at me again.

I press my lips to her temple - so clammy and so cold.

I'll be okay Maura, I'll be okay, I'll be seeing you later but I'll be a while because, no instant. I promise, no instant Maura. No instant.

I press my lips to her temple, I close my eyes; I know. I feel her fingers against mine, unmoving and I know.

I am sitting in a puddle, her temple to my cheek, feeling the rain and listening.

A conscious pitter, a steady patter, even the rain knows. My tears flow.


	3. Chapter 3

My mother comes over. With breakfast, lunch and dinner; three meals each day, three times my heart breaks. I would always be eating with her.

Maura, I miss her. She's just sleeping, somewhere, for a long time, far away.

Janie, Janie. My mother calls me. My mother tries for conversations but I only ever thank my mother. It's polite, it's manners, and it's all I can bring myself to say.

I have lost the Isles that walked down the aisle to me, with me. Vows are broken, till death do us part; words no longer matter, even in death, we do not part. We are the exception. Words have lost its meaning.

I thank my mother. I thank my mother for the meals. The constant reminder that there's food, there's solid food that I still have to chew.

I drink beer. I drink beer and I drink water. I don't touch coffee. Grounded or instant, I don't touch coffee. I can't, not so soon. I chew, I swallow. I sip, I drink, I hydrate.

I thank my mother. My mother feeds me and I thank my mother. I just want to channel surf.

I scour the shopping network for things that Maura would like. I got two of those picnic pants - one for her and one for me. I have gotten a punching dummy too. Time for an upgrade I think; from bag to dummy. I scour the shopping network for pots and pans; for china to serve dinner on.

I eat from the containers my mother brings food in. I chew, I swallow. I sip, I drink, I hydrate.

Maura would like that vacuum I think. I would like to be in a vacuum I think. No air, no pain; no pain, no air. No instant.

Janie, I need to go back to the cafe now. Will you be okay? My mother asks.

I don't know how to answer my mother. Of course I'll be okay. I'm Jane Rizzoli and I have promised my wife no instant. She had promised it'll all be okay. But I don't feel okay. I don't know how to answer my mother and so, I give no answer.

My mother doesn't pester for one, which is very unlike my mother but, we're all a little different now. We've all changed a little, some more than others; Maura's taken away so much with her. It's been a week and two days without her.

The house is never empty, not for long; Ma, Frankie and Tommy sleep over, they take turns. They sleep in the guest room, I on the couch.

I haven't entered the bedroom. I don't want to enter the bedroom.

Sometimes even Frost buddies up with me. Watching re-runs, of games, of movies; anything that's playing, it's all just moving pictures anyway.

They never leave me alone; the house is never empty except, that it is.

My mother kisses the top of my head, pats my shoulder and tells me that Tommy will come with T.J. in about an hour.

My mother leaves the house. I am alone now. I shop some more. I buy spatulas - wooden, titanium. I buy spatulas.

I have used my sick days, my personal days; I have done anything to get as far as possible away - from the morgue, from the bullpen; from everything that I am.

Be you, she had said. How can I without you Maura?

The pain and realization set in together, each vying for a crucial moment to reign victor. She's in my arms - slick from the blood and rain.

I am crying again. I am a mess again. I shop at shopping network again. Oven mitts, she'll love those.

I think that if I am a slob for a little while longer, she'll come running in. She'll come running into the living room, to live; to mind my body – to mind me, to be with me.

Frankie says that I am delusional. That he's worried about me. That they're all worried about me.

I want to tell him, if in my delusions she's still there then that's where I'll be so leave a name or a number.

I shut the world out. I want to pretend a little bit longer.

I am in sweats, slacks, sprawled on the couch.

I am in denial. I shut the world out.


	4. Chapter 4

I shut the world out.

I shut the world out, but the world is her; she is, she was, she is my world.

I shut the world that isn't her out.

* * *

><p>"Hi," her voice had been gentle, cautious, kind, "May I sit?"<p>

I had wanted to say no, to tell her to go. I had been hiding out, at a spot at a stairwell. It's the perfect place, for some quiet and some space.

They had a big fight that day, my parents. A really big fight that the then me, hormonal teenager and all, could not quite repress. It was not uncommon, the arguments, their bickering. Years, they've been at it. Sure, there have been moments, moments of Frank dear, Angela honey interspaced between you bastard, what woman what, and do you never ever think about your children, this family, or even me.

I was just having a bad day that day and I had needed a moment, needed space. I had gone and hidden myself away; shut out and away from the rest of the world.

She had found me anyway.

Though then, she was still a stranger.

Still she found me anyway.

By chance, by fate; by her genius ways.

I thank her every day.

That I had met her that day - at a spot at a stairwell - some quiet and some space.

Just for my thoughts, my tears and myself. So I had thought.

I had wanted to say no, to tell her to go but, I hadn't.

Maybe it had been her tone, her words or just her. I may never ever know why exactly but I hadn't said no that day, and that made all the difference, right till today.

I am Jane Rizzoli and I had then three rules:

Rule number one: Keep everyone out.  
>Rule number two: Sarcasm is a good shield.<br>Rule number three: Cheeseburgers are good comfort food.

I had nodded instead that day. She had sat down that day.

I had done a quick and hopefully inconspicuous swipe at my nose of course, wiping away snot. No one was to ever see me cry; that'll be breaking then rule number one.

She hadn't said anything though. She had just sat down, quiet. She had kept words, if any, to herself. I have never asked her why she chose quiet that day but after all these years, I had come to understand.

She's the brave one, the wiser of us both; and she probably knew enough, despite her awkward social qualms, to offer me company. To offer, to just offer, and expect no returns.

A quiet kind of solace took over that day. At the spot at a stairwell; it had been my hide-out, it had been my special place.

I had known who she was of course. We were classmates after all. She was the brainiac of the class. The person one would go to for homework help, notes if need be and basically, academic consults.

She and I had never crossed paths though. Unless her being in the way of my note-passing counts. She was the girl whom people turned to for, would you pass the note along that way please and that was all; that was it - that was then.

"You are...Maura Isles, right?" I tried for conversation, a feeble attempt, to come off nonchalant.

"And you're Jane Rizzoli." She had smiled - kind and knowing. Just a smile, nothing pressing.

She was quite like a geek and I was quite like a jock. The pair of us, quite exact opposites; an unlikely mix; two crowds that do not mingle, do not mix, much less meet.

I and her, her and I, are an exception though.

That day had been different.

I had been just Jane, just Jane Rizzoli and she had been Maura, just Maura Isles.

Neither of us, a geek nor a jock.

We were just two girls, two persons at a spot, sitting side by side, sharing a stairwell.

* * *

><p>She is Maura Isles; the girl who had sat with me.<p>

She is Maura Isles; the woman whom had sat with me through it all, till now.

"Maura, do you remember the stairwell?"

My voice is small, my eyes water.

"Maura, do you remember my new rules? My replacement rules, my promises, my wedding vows? Maura?"

My voice echoes in the empty house.

"Maura, I miss you."

Huge droplets flow.

I clasp my hands together, pretending as if she's holding mine, holding me.

I miss her hands, I miss her fingers; I miss her smiles.

I miss her and I am holding my breath, holding back tears.

I intertwine my fingers, telling myself words so familiar.

My intertwined fingers, tight and together.

My intertwined fingers; _my_ intertwined fingers.

Lonely without hers.

"Maura, I need you."

My voice breaks along with the cascades of tears.

"Maura, please sit with me again, please."

"Please."

"Please."

I plead. I beg. I call out.

To no one but yourself.

"Please."

I no longer cry.

I forget how to breathe.

I am holding back tears, I am holding back pain.

I just forget to breathe.


	5. Chapter 5

I've got your back Maura, I tell her. I've got your back.

I've got your back Maura, I tell her. I've got your back Maura, I repeat on end.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks.

I've got your back Maura. I've got your back.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks.

I want to say that it'll be okay, but I can't say it – because it's not. I want to tell her that it'll all be okay; except that I can't – because I'll never tell you that it'll be okay, unless I know that it is, words I had promised her once.

Jane? She calls my name.

I'm here. I say the words – an echo of what she had always been.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks again.

No instant Jane. Be you. Okay? She asks yet again.

Good coffee needs time to brew, no matter the condition. I say.

I'll meet you with a good brew Maura. I say.

No matter the condition, no matter what happens, no instant. I say.

I promise Maura. I promise. I promise. It'll be okay.

I wake.

* * *

><p><strong>The End.<strong>  
><strong>(As of now, and would probably always be the case)<br>**Thank you, for the time.


	6. Chapter 6

You press your lips to her temple, or at least for one last time - you think you do, you tell yourself you did.

"I'm sorry, Maura, I am."

You wrap yourself around her, and you tell yourself that you're safe, you're real - she's here. When she isn't.

"I'm sorry, Maura, I am. I am."

I'm just not strong enough to want to love or live life without you.

It'll be a long fall, it won't be an instant - not really. But maybe I can stay, without being or becoming; without bringing you coffee. I can come be asleep with you, near me. It hasn't been an instant - not for me.

"I'm sorry."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you, for everything - and this is it. Please don't be sad, nor take any blame - for there's no such need. It's on me. **


End file.
